by John Marsden
It was what I had wanted. Why, then, did I suddenly feel dizzy, and reel where I stood? Why did the faces of Quentin and the Ferret seem suddenly blurred and distant? Why did I have to clutch at the handrail of the dock to prevent myself falling? And why did my hands, reaching for the handrail, fail to achieve their objective, so that the next thing I knew was that I was lying on the floor of the dock whilst a man unknown to me sponged my face with a wet cloth?
I suppose that the enormity, the reality, of transportation had suddenly dawned upon me. As the result of a short conversation with an incoherent dying man late one night in a tavern, I had committed myself to an irrevocable course of action that would take me away from everything I had known to a completely alien land, and change my life forever.
Chapter 19
All I actually knew of New South Wales could be summed up on the back of a postage stamp. The man at the tavern had spoken of the climate and of the vast tracts of land. I remembered hearing of strange hopping animals, and Captain Cook discovering the place but then being murdered by cannibals. And that was the full extent of my understanding.
When I was returned to Newgate I opened my ears more widely when I heard anyone talk of transportation, but it seemed that not many people knew more than I. As the man in the tavern had said, no one wanted to be sent there. They were all afeared of savages and cannibals and wild animals. The only things I found out were that Captain Cook had actually been murdered a long way from Botany Bay, and that the Indians in New South Wales wore no clothes and had killing weapons the like of which no one had ever seen before. This last fact made me feel even more agitated about the turn my life was about to take, and I believe I made myself quite ill with anxiety.
However, before I could even get to New South Wales and ascertain for myself if the stories were true, I had first to survive Newgate. Between the food and the water, both of which were foul, and the keepers and the other prisoners, both of which groups were savage enough to compete with the headhunters of the Pacific, I knew I would be lucky to make it out of the place alive. If I was not made ill by anxiety, I was certainly made ill by the conditions. The food was often rotten, and even when it was not, there was never enough of it. For breakfast, we were supposed to get one pint of oatmeal gruel and six ounces of bread a day. For dinner, on Sundays and Thursdays, one pint of soup and eight ounces of bread. On Tuesdays and Saturdays, three ounces of cooked meat without bone, eight ounces of bread, and half a pound of potatoes. On the remaining three days, eight ounces of bread, and a full pound of potatoes. Supper was the same as breakfast: oatmeal gruel and bread.
The old lags, of whom there were many in Newgate, knew these weights and measures exactly, and seemed to know within a fraction of an ounce when there was any shortfall, and most loudly and bitterly did they complain at any depredations to their rations. Their cries of protest and their incessant grizzling appeared to achieve no amelioration of our conditions, but perhaps they made the keepers hesitate before plundering us of our entitlements.
Even when we received full measure I went to bed hungry, but that was no surprise, as I spent the days hungry as well. No one as kind as Carmichael, who had shared his haunch bone of beef with me, had happened along again. Occasionally if a prisoner was sick, he might give me some of his rations, and I am ashamed to say that there were times when I wished a man suffering ill health would suffer more, so that his appetite might desert him. But I myself was sick many times, and forced to give my food away in consequence of being unable to swallow.
At an early point during my stay in the commons I became aware that Lord Blood was mortally afraid of catching prison fever, so I began to feign the symptoms of illness whenever there seemed danger of his paying too much attention to me. Since that first night he had, however, been somewhat less enamoured of me than might otherwise have been the case.
There were two other circumstances which aided me in avoiding him. For one thing, during the day we were free to go pretty much anywhere within the prison, even among those on the master’s side; hence it was easier to keep away from Lord Blood. Secondly, a boy about my age, but prettier than I, and dainty in his ways, was admitted to the same westernmost room, and this boy, who went by the name of Joshua, became an object of greater interest than I to His Lordship. There were times when I could hear them at night, and I lay shuddering in the darkness listening to Joshua’s cries but unable to do anything to assist him.
Not long after Carmichael left, I experienced a night in Newgate which was made memorable by an unexpected resolution to the fearful reign of Lord Blood. Early in the evening, shortly after darkness fell, I heard him at Joshua again. Then he finished, and I heard him move away, to his habitual place near the fire. I believe I dozed after that, perhaps for some hours. Sometimes, when things were very quiet, I could hear the doleful sound of a distant church bell tolling the passing hours, and on this occasion I heard it strike midnight. Not very many minutes later I saw a small shadow pass in front of the fire, and then heard a grunting cry from Lord Blood. I had heard such sounds from him before, when in the throes of his nefarious night-time activities, so I blocked my ears and tried not to listen.
I was woken in the morning by the clamour of agitated voices from the fireplace end of the room. As I awoke, four keepers burst in through the door. The crowded room parted for them, and they made their way to Lord Blood’s palliasse. Then I saw the proof that his name had been well chosen indeed. A thick river of blood, running through the middle of the cell much as the Thames runs through London, represented the brutal end to His Lordship’s life. I had never seen so much blood; indeed I had no comprehension that so much blood could be contained within one human body. No wonder the body, recumbent upon the palliasse, was as white as marble.
As I drew nearer, compelled by the awful sight, I could see the handle of a knife protruding from his chest, with His Lordship’s hand resting upon it. It appeared then that he had killed himself. What strength of mind must it take to drive a dagger so fiercely into one’s own heart? I shrank away, appalled, and went back to my own resting place. I could not pretend to be sorry that Lord Blood’s reign had ended, but the terrible sight made me, in my weakened condition, frightened and shaky.
I lay for a while on the ground, in my accustomed place, watching the keepers come and go, seeing them stop for frequent whispered consultations. I saw them constantly looking around the room, and I heard the word ‘murder’ mentioned more than once. From time to time they called various prisoners to speak to them, but I could see that they met with nothing but stubborn silences. Newgate was a place where anyone who wished to survive was well advised to practise discretion when speaking to the turnkeys.
We had not yet been allowed out for our morning ablutions, due no doubt to the unusual circumstance, and I was feeling thirsty and restless. I had been keeping an eye on Joshua, because I was curious to see his reaction to the death of his tormentor. He had not moved in all that time, but he was watching the scene through hooded eyes. I began to become aware that there was something unusual about the way he was sitting. His right arm was tucked inside his tattered shirt, as though he were hiding something.
It occurred to me suddenly that his hand might need to be washed.
I went over to him, as casually as I could. He watched my approach warily. I sat down beside him, but did not speak for some minutes. When I had ascertained that no one appeared to be taking any notice of us, I said to him: ‘You know, if I bring the piss bucket over here, you could wash your hand in that.’
He started with sudden fear. His eyes widened but he did not say anything. I added: ‘That is, if your hand needs washing.’
Many moments passed. Then he gave one tiny nod, and that was enough for me. I went and got the bucket, heavy as it was, and lugged it across to him. He watched me every inch of the way, his wide eyes terrified. It wasn’t unknown for one prisoner to fetch the bucket to another who was bedrid
den, as an act of kindness. In all honesty, though, I have to add that it was more common for prisoners who were bedridden to foul themselves.
I positioned the bucket between Joshua and the wall, so that he could turn his back on the rest of the room. He plunged his hand in, as quickly as possible, but not so quickly that I could not see the dried blood all over it. ‘The other hand too,’ I whispered. ‘You’ll have to scrub.’
He did as I said, though with an expression of repugnance. He may have looked frail, but he had some spirit, firstly to do what he had done in the middle of the night, and secondly to immerse his hands in the foul-smelling liquid. Soon enough he was able to withdraw them, and I saw with relief that the evidence linking him with Lord Blood was almost gone.
‘Give me your fingers,’ I said, and he obliged. His hand felt soft and delicate. I did not know his background, but it was surely different to mine. With my own fingernails I picked around his nails, removing the traces of dried blood that still lingered in the crevices.
As a result of this transaction Joshua formed an attachment to me, and during the remainder of my time in Newgate we were inseparable. He was being prosecuted on a charge of passing counterfeit notes. I felt cold when he told me this, as I well knew it was a crime for which I too could have been charged, and which generally attracted a capital sentence. He struck me as a most unlikely criminal, and this was confirmed when he told me that his father, who was a gentleman, had commissioned him to take the notes to various merchants, buy small items and bring back the change. Taken into custody by the Bow-Street Runners, Joshua was escorted back to his father’s home, but in the street, a hundred yards from the house, they passed his father, who was hurrying away, evidently having seen the Redbreasts approaching. He accorded no sign of recognition to his son, and his son, taking the hint, returned no recognition to the father. Thus was the father enabled to escape and thus the son ended up in Newgate Prison.
I thought this was infamous conduct indeed, and I expressed myself in no uncertain terms to Joshua about it. But he defended his father and had faith that eventually all would be made well. I was by no means so sanguine about his prospects, but knowing so little of family life I dropped my objections to his father’s conduct, thinking that this kind of behaviour was perhaps the way of the world.
We never discussed Joshua’s assassination of Lord Blood, but I let him know in numerous small ways that I approved of his action, despite the high risk it had involved. There was much talk about the unlikelihood of it having been a suicide, but it was no doubt convenient for the prison authorities to characterise it as such, and so the matter was soon dropped. Within a couple of days the name of Lord Blood was no longer mentioned and it was as though his existence had already been forgotten. Tempus fugit! How brief is the life of man, and yet the marks Lord Blood had left upon Joshua and me were not easily erased.
Chapter 20
Late one afternoon an apparition appeared before me; a figure so unlikely that I thought I must have begun the process of going mad and was having delusions. A person was standing by the well in the central courtyard, looking about him. I glanced up with little interest from my cold hard resting place against a brick wall. Visitors to Newgate were frequent during the day; at times it seemed as busy as a London street. Many were disreputable indeed, and were there for reasons that did not bear close examination. I spent much time averting my eyes.
On this occasion I can scarce describe my astonishment when my eyes lit upon the Revd Mr Haddock, the big young clergyman from St Martin’s, standing there with his familiar black bag. He was gazing around as though in wonder at the depraved surroundings in which he found himself.
I stood, hoping that this was no manifestation of madness. Revd Mr Haddock’s eyes lit upon me, and he at once gave every indication of pleasure and satisfaction. He came straight to me, arms outstretched, and took both my hands in his. I stared up at him, having to accept that he was real, but having no idea what his appearance in this place could portend.
‘Well my young friend,’ he said in a voice that was very familiar to me. ‘We meet officially at last.’
I found myself unable to speak. He smiled and continued: ‘I believe your name is Barnaby?’
I nodded. ‘How do you know that?’ I asked.
He smiled again. ‘Sometimes we see more than you imagine.’
I did not know what else to say to him. I still had no idea why he would be in such a dreadful place. A keeper approached, with a chair, which the reverend gentleman accepted. Obviously his clerical collar commanded respect, even in Newgate.
My visitor sat down and crossed his legs. ‘I suppose you are wondering why I am here,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I croaked.
‘I found your young friend with the birthmark, Quentin, in a distressed state in the church yesterday morning. He informed me of your whereabouts. And told me of your fate.’
He reached out and took my hands. ‘Transportation,’ he said quietly.
‘Yes,’ I said again.
He nodded. ‘Our Lord said, “Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy-laden, and I will give thee rest.” You have been heavily laden these short years of your life. I have been praying for you for some time . . .’
‘You have?’ I said in astonishment.
He nodded. ‘And will continue to do so.’
‘I didn’t think you knew anything about me,’ I said. ‘I didn’t think you knew of my existence.’
It was his turn to look surprised. ‘Why did you think I put food out for you all that time? When I could, that is.’
It took me a moment to process his words. ‘Do you mean you left that food deliberately? For me?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you,’ I said shyly. I was somewhat disconcerted. I had been so sure that I was moving about the church like a little mouse, skilfully avoiding detection. Now it appeared that I had not been so clever after all.
Revd Mr Haddock reached into his bag. He took out a parcel and handed it to me. I unwrapped it, and felt faint when I saw the contents. The only time I had ever held such a quantity of food in my life was when the woman in the house with the fire gave me the half-chicken and the bread and biscuits. Revd Mr Haddock had brought me a slab of cheese that must have weighed a pound, a full loaf of bread, half-a-dozen baked potatoes, a meat pie, a slab of bacon, several carrots and a handful of beans. I was speechless. I could not imagine how one person could eat such a quantity, unless he took a week about it.
I had formed the impression over the years that Revd Mr Haddock was not possessed of independent means, so I was sure he must have expended a considerable proportion of his stipend on these provisions.
‘Thank you, sir,’ I said warmly.
‘I will wait here while you eat,’ he said. ‘I am not unaware of the indignities perpetrated in these places. Indeed, I only have to look around to see what manner of people are here. I can well imagine that the food might attract unwelcome attention were I to leave you alone with it.’
I was grateful for his understanding. ‘Sir, would you be offended if I fetched a friend to share it?’ I asked. ‘There is too much here for one person; indeed it is a feast for a dozen. And there is a boy about my age who is very thin and needy.’
He nodded. ‘Of course. I will wait here while you get him.’ He smiled grimly. ‘I will stand guard on the food.’
And thus it was that Joshua and I shared the finest and most welcome meal of my life to that date. Truly is it said that hunger makes the best sauce. I formed the impression that Joshua was more accustomed to good food than I, but judging from his ejaculations of delight he had not eaten well for a considerable time. As we ate, Revd Mr Haddock preached to us of the love and forbearance of the Lord, and the hope of paradise that He offers to all who turn to Him, or, as the disciple puts it, ‘that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have
eternal life’. In a gentle voice Revd Mr Haddock quoth to us the words of St John: ‘He that doeth truth cometh to the light, that his deeds may be made manifest, that they are wrought in God.’
After he had gone I resolved to do all I could to be truthful, to lead a better life, and to repent me of my sins, in the hope of life everlasting, and that resolve has never left me, despite my many lapses since.
Looking back on my first twelve years I could not say that I had often experienced kindness, but perhaps I had sometimes been its beneficiary without realising it, as had evidently been the case when I was sheltering in St Martin’s and supping on the food left by the young clergyman. The reverend gentleman’s visit to Newgate represented, however, the apogee of kindness in my life thus far.
Equally I could say luck had not often been on my side, yet just a week after Revd Mr Haddock’s visit I was favoured by Lady Luck too, when I was informed that, like Carmichael before me, I would bypass the Hulks and go straight to one of His Majesty’s ships which was on the point of departure for New South Wales.
I received the news with some relief, because despite the luxury of the meal brought us by the Revd Mr Haddock I was so wasted away and debilitated by conditions in Newgate that I doubted I should last much longer. The reverend gentleman was quite right in his forecast of the probable fate of the food once he left the prison, for more than half of what remained from our feast was taken from me by violence, threats, stealth and deceitful inducements.
